The mission isn't over until you feel the sting
by Solo's Girl
Summary: Returning from a mission completely unharmed? This is Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin we're talking about right?


**The Mission Isn't Over Until You Feel The Sting Affair**

Written by: Solo's Girl

 _ **Thank you Kelly-LA/CA for the prompt. Hope you like it.**_

 **The UNCLE Private Jet.**  
 **Six hours from New York City...**

"Napoleon?"

"Yes.."

"Do you realize something about this last affair?"

"Other than the fact it was miserable the entire time? I hate the heat..or was it the fact that we didn't eat for the last three days…One of these?"

Illya tried to hide his smile.

"No..I mean the fact that we made it through without a single scratch," the Russian said.

Napoleon leaned back in his seat and smiled. He raised an eyebrow.

"No bumps or bruises?" he asked sarcastically.

"Not so much as a hangnail!"

Solo sat upright and looked at his partner.

"I'm sure Mr. Waverly will be pleased…"

"Not to mention Doctor Martz," Illya added taking a sip of his coffee.

Wilhelmina, the shapely young stewardess walked up next to the two men. She gave her platinum blond hair a shake, adjusted her tiny cap and leaned towards them. As she did, her blouse tightened around her breast leaving nothing to the imagination.

Napoleon and Illya both felt their eyes involuntarily open wide, blink and flutter a few times.

"Can I get you gentlemen anything?" she said slow and teasingly.

Solo's jaw dropped open. Kuryakin quickly crossed his legs. He gave his partner a sharp jab with his elbow.

"Oh…ah no thank you," Napoleon said his voice cracking.

"Mr. Kuryakin?"

"WHAT?...Oh no thank you..Nothing for me…thank you…"

She smiled and stood upright. Both agents turned in their seats and watched her walk back towards the back of the plane. Solo was leaning over the armrest watching her. Kuryakin had turned in his seat, his face just level with headrest, one foot hooked under his seat for balance.

Suddenly the plane hit a patch of turbulence and both men were thrown into the narrow floor. Napoleon tried to move only to find his partner wedged in on top of him. Kuryakin was trying to get his foot out from under the seat so he could get up.

"Illya…..That had better be your Walther I feel poking me in the back."

The Russian struggled then finally freed his foot. He made it back into his seat and reached over pulling Solo out of the floor. Napoleon adjusted his tie, and then brushed the rug lint from his jacket.

"You were saying?" he mumbled, looking over at his partner.

"That doesn't count," Kuryakin said.

"Are you suggesting we go to the back of the plane and beat each other's brains out….Just so it looks like a successful mission?...Which it was anyway."

Kuryakin smiled and made a small laugh.

"Might not be such a bad idea."

Napoleon looked at him. If this was going to be the level of conversation for the next six hours, he might very well just pound his own head into the wall. He noticed Kuryakin was fidgeting.

"Problem?"

"I need to use the lavatory…"

Illya reached up and took hold of the seat in front of him. He stood up and started past Solo. Napoleon smiled as he watched the Russian.

"Too much Wilhelmina?" Napoleon said jokingly.

"Too much airplane coffee…Move Napoleon..." Illya said trying to push past his partners legs.

Kuryakin made his way to the back of the plane. He saw the two stewardesses relaxing in the tiny kitchen area as he made his way to the restroom. His face blushed as they noticed his problem.

"Something wrong Mr. Kuryakin?" Barbara, the petite brunet asked smiling at him.

"Nothing I can't handle," Illya said off the cuff. Then his face turned beet red. "I mean…Well that is….Oh forget it.."

The flustered Russian went into the tiny restroom. He could hear the women giggling in the next compartment.

Napoleon stood up and gave his back and legs a good stretch. He took off his jacket and laid it across the back of his seat. The agent gave the shoulder holster a few tugs. It felt like it was cutting into his skin. He grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled it forward giving it a shake to cool off.

The air in the cabin was very comfortable, but the jacket and holster were causing him to perspire. Solo looked down and saw a small spot on his shoe. Pulling the handkerchief from his pants pocket, he lifted his foot onto the armrest and gave the spot a quick run over. He felt someone walk past him. Napoleon looked up and saw Barbara taking coffee towards the cockpit. She smiled at the agent.

"Mirror finish," she said looking at his shoes, then at his smile, "I had a cousin who use to polish his shoes like that…Got five years in New York State prison for using the shine to look up ladies skirts."

She said trying her best not to smile. Napoleon laughed and smiled back at her. He shook his head as she disappeared behind the door.

Illya walked back up the aisle. He saw the expression on Solo's face.

"Have you been propositioned again?" the blond asked taking his seat.

"No," Solo said, "I was thinking about what you said…Not getting hurt this trip…We have been thru all kinds of hell haven't we?"

Illya nodded.

"Tied up, gagged, handcuffed, whipped…"

"I thought we were talking about on missions, not your last weekend at home," Illya said smiling as he slumped back in his seat.

"You're a laugh riot, Kuryakin, you know that? Think about it…"

"I do, more often than I should," Illya said giving the side of his head a gentle rub, "I wonder sometimes how much more we will be able to stand..I mean look at all the chemicals, radiation, brainwashing…Let's not talk about it anymore." He shifted in his seat.

"Makes you wonder why the women we go out with don't fly screaming into the night when they see us without our…..shirts on."

At this Kuryakin snickered. He knew Solo was about to say "without our clothes on" but changed it to the one garment. He and Solo both had quite a lot to offer a woman when it came to certain parts of their anatomies. If they could just get past the scars, burns and branding marks.

"Napoleon…Have you ever wondered how the nurses at U.N.C.L.E. can see all the destruction done to the agents and not let it get to them?"

"It does get to them," Solo replied, "Nurse Thornton told me once that it was the hardest thing in the world to see the sadistic things THRUSH managed to do to our people..She said several times she went home after her shift and just sat for hours crying."

"Really?"

"Yes, really…They may be nurses but they are warm caring women as well…Tough as nails at work, but that feminine side always takes over when work is done."

Illya leaned his seat back and folded his hands behind his head. He smiled.

"Well…They should be happy when we get back this time," Illya said.

"Yeah….I'm sure there's already a pizza box on your desk…or one will be before we land anyway," Napoleon said cutting his eyes over at his partner.

Once again Illya smiled.

"Napoleon…Do you ever stop to think why we keep doing this?"

"Not for a moment. We do what we do and take what is dished out because we know what is right. If people like THRUSH or some of the other subversive groups we have had to deal with ever took control of the world…Makes me sick to think of it. What about you?"

"I guess I should have said not so much why we do this, as why we were chosen to do this."

Napoleon sat up and looked at his friend.

"Why Illya Kuryakin, that sounds distinctly like a philosophical statement. Chosen to do what we do."

Illya shrugged.

"Guess I've picked up a lot of bad habits from you…Seriously, there must have been something unique that others saw in us to lure U.N.C.L.E. to our doorsteps. I mean, I'm not exactly what most people expect when they hear the words secret agent or spy."

Napoleon smiled.

"True. But you are a prime example of the phrase "never underestimate your opponent"."

"Thank you. I guess what I meant was not so much why U.N.C.L.E. chose us but…maybe a higher…..Stop grinning at me like that Napoleon…"

Solo laughed.

"Maybe we were born with a keener survival sense, a depth of stamina deeper than most people. That drive to not let the bad guys win, no matter the cost to our physical well-being. Maybe we are part of a bigger plan" He tapped his forehead. "Or it could be just plain old hardheadedness."

"Speak for yourself."

"To suffer the slings and arrows….." Napoleon said dramatically holding is hand to his forehead.

"Oh shut-up!"

Napoleon laughed and gave his arms a stretch. He glanced at his watch.

"Five more hours…I think I'll go in the back and lay down for awhile."

He stood up and gave his back another stretch.

"Wilhelmina is back there," Illya said with a smirk, "I thought we were going to show up un-injured this time!"

Napoleon leaned against the seat and looked Illya in the eye.

"Those injuries don't count...Besides, I haven't had enough sleep. For her…or anybody else."

Napoleon headed towards the back of the plane and the sofa styled seating area. Illya shook his head, yawned and stretched out himself. The agent propped his feet up in Solo's seat and wedged himself into the corner of the seat and window. He opened one eye and saw Barbara standing next to the seats.

"Can I get you a pillow…A blanket..or anything else to help you get comfortable?" she said smiling slyly at him.

Without really waiting for an answer, the woman took a blanket from the overhead and covered the agent with it. Illya smiled and gave his head a slight nod. He sat up in the seat. The young woman sat beside him and began to tuck the blanket around him. She laughed softly as he covered them both, then reached up and switched off the overhead light.

A strange buzzing sound woke the Russian. He opened his eyes to find himself alone in the seat, securely tucked in the blanket. He struggled to get his arm free and his communicator from his pocket.

"Channel D open, Kuryakin here." He fought to suppress a yawn.

"Good morning Mr. Kuryakin," Waverly said, "Nice to have you both back on American soil again, well in a few minutes anyway..I have medical on stand-by for your arrival."

Napoleon was walking up the aisle, his clothes and hair in disarray. He yawned and a smile crossed his face as he heard their boss' statement.

"That won't be necessary Mr. Waverly," Illya said.

There was a moment of silence on the other end.

"Not the morgue detail?"

Solo and Kuryakin shook their heads and held back their laughter.

"No sir not them either..we have actually made it back without….."

The plane hit another patch of violent turbulence. Illya flew forward into the seat in front of him. He felt the pen jam into his face, cutting his upper lip and cheek. He heard a thud as Solo was thrown against the seat then into the floor.

"Damn..my ankle," Solo shouted grabbing his now swelling appendage.

"Medical will be fine sir," Illya said trying to stop the bleeding.

Waverly smiled.

"Welcome home gentlemen."


End file.
